


The Morrow

by Lolibat



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:17:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lolibat/pseuds/Lolibat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To become the dew that quenches the land/ To spare the sands, the seas, the skies /I offer thee this silent sacrifice. A collection of mini one shots dedicated to our favorite crimson commander, Genesis Rhapsodos. No pairings.</p>
<p>Old fic- 3/23/10</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morrow

**Chapter 1: Chapter 1**

* * *

The Morrow

Summary: To become the dew that quenches the land/ To spare the sands, the seas, the skies  
/I offer thee this silent sacrifice. A collection of mini one shots dedicated to our favorite crimson commander, Genesis Rhapsodos. No pairings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Final fantasy VII, as much as I'd love to.

Mandy: I got obsessed with Genesis' personality after reading a couple of stories on , and I couldn't concentrate on anything else, so I had to get the plot bunnies out of my head. The not bolded words are the words from a random word generator that acted as my prompt, and the bolded words are the actual titles of the mini one-shots.

* * *

Similarity:

**Duty**

Genesis Rhapsodos, famous hot-head of Shinra Inc. in more than one manner, completely shatters the typical stereotype of SOLDIERS. He, unlike everyone else, is a thinker, a philosopher, and a dreamer. Undoubtedly, one of these days, he is going to run out of things to analyze. As interesting as LOVELESS is, he practically created every theory out there about it, and can spout off any act in its glorious entirety in his sleep. So now the bored red commander sits at his rarely visited office, tapping his dried pen against his desk. His mind drifts lazily over various topics; chocobos, new cadets, the conditions of his fire materia, along with various paradoxes of Gaia, such as how Sephiroth manages not to cut his hair with Masamune, how he can see on a windy day, and how SOLDIERs can stay suspended in midair without the aid of wings… wings… Then the tapping of his pen stopped. He mentally blinked once, then twice. He has never noticed this before, but the similarity between SOLDIERs and monsters is uncanny.

Summoning Rapier in his hand with a flash of crimson, he makes his way out of his predictably red office and begins his quest for a certain silver general and his other best friend.

Ten minutes later, he is back in his office, and nursing his aching head. Sephiroth is no help; after wading through an ocean consisting of girls screaming for his autograph, he reaches the elevator and stays on all the way to the general's office. When he elaborates about his current dilemma, the stoic looks up from his towers of paper work and starts stating the differences in anatomy, behavioral patterns, and intelligence. Needless to say, he is out of the office in a heartbeat. Again, wading through the ever constant crowd, he reaches the gym, where Angeal and his puppy are practicing. He asks them the same question that he asks Sephiroth and immediately, the man launches into his usual monologue on dreams, honor, and pride. Tuning out the familiar words, he turns his attention to the Puppy. The Puppy-porcupine cross just looks at him with his head tilted and lets out a clueless 'Hunh?'

His journey for an answer proves to be fruitless except for the need to wash his clothes for the billionth time. Goddess knows how many germs his cloak gathers from the… mob of shrieks downstairs.

A somewhat hesitant knock rouses him from his thoughts. With a sigh, he tells whoever knocked to come in. Minerva help him, if it is Heidegger again, the fat man will leave without his beard or any hair on his head. He hasn't gotten to torch anything today…yet. Instead of a grumpy fat man, what enters is a stack of papers with a spiky blond wig and a pair of wobbling legs. Genesis stares, blinks, and stares some more. He could have sworn that chocobos are not allowed in the building, let alone a chocobo-paperwork hybrid that Hojo crossed.

Then, as miraculously as it seems, the paperwork detaches itself to reveal a petite cadet behind it; 'the cross' happens to be the same cadet that the Puppy has taken an interest to; dubbed the Cub. Said cub stammers out that the paperwork is the reports from some mission in Wutai that every soldier who participated wrote up. Absentmindedly, he nods. Before his dismisses the Cub, though, he asks,

"Cadet, what is the difference between a SOLDIER and a monster?"

Cloud blinks and replies "Duty, sir. A monster would not be sitting behind a desk right now filling out stacks of paper, with all due respect, sir."

Genesis' lips twitches upwards. He waves his hand in a dismissal gesture and watches as the Cub snaps into a salute and leave. Duty, huh? Resigning himself to his 'duty', he picks up a brand new pen from the box that is conveniently placed next to his paperweight. With a sigh, Genesis reaches upwards for the first report in the tower of paper…

* * *

Nurse:

**Lessons**

When Genesis overdid his spar and ended up with a wounded shoulder, he expected that he'd be up and running the next day. After all, nothing ever stops the big, bad SOLDIERs; especially not a measly 'scratch'. What he didn't expect was that he'd be stuck in a bed staring at a boringly white ceiling with blood flowing into him, not out of him. Turns out that the wound had mako in it and stubbornly refused to close. Typical.

If there was one thing he learned from this injury, it is not that he shouldn't be a childish pyromaniac who insists on infusing everything with fire—it's that Angeal makes a really  **bad** nurse.

Who knew that the man was such a Chocobo hen? It started with one dumb apple. Then the next day, a basket of them appeared by his bed. By the end of the week, there was more purple in his room than there was white.

When Sephiroth of all people—Sephiroth—came in with a bowl of glowing, twitching, and wobbling purple jelly-substance that he claimed was chicken soup, Genesis twitched. Guess Sephiroth makes an even worse nurse than Angeal does. Go figure.

* * *

Container:

**Forthcoming**

With a gloved hand, Genesis flips his well worn copy of LOVELESS over. Opening the cover in a fluid gesture, he thumbs through the pages of his beloved text one by one, listening to the music of crinkling pages and inhaling the pleasant smell of old books. Within these yellowing pages rests the fate of the world; a yet uncompleted prophesy, a tale of an endless quest, and the strife that accompanies it in every step.

These fragile pages contain the secret to eternal bliss; to the gift promised by the Goddess to mankind—the ultimate salvation. His dreams, his passion, are within these curving letters. Unknowingly, his future would soon hinge on the same text that he now holds in his hands.

Silent and hidden, the beast which dwells within him stirs from its sleep. Oblivious, Genesis begins to recite

Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess  
We seek it thus, and take it to the sky  
Ripples form on the water's surface  
The wandering soul knows no rest.

Lips twitching, he turns his back to the setting sun, not knowing what tomorrow holds in store for him.

* * *

Parade:

**Holy**

From between the shades of the blinds, light comes streaming in. It hits the corners of the room, bringing with it warmth and light as it drenches the spacious office. The gentle rays of the morning sun make their way across the luxurious carpet and the desk sitting on top of it. With an almost soft touch, it brushes across a gently resting figure, fast asleep on his desk, a pen in his hand and black ink smeared across one cheek. He breathes in, and then out, oblivious to the simple joy of the morning. The light caresses the figure, bringing out highlights in the redhead's hair, the different shades and tints of orange, red, and auburn. It makes its way past the slumbering commander and reaches out to the other corners of the office, chasing out the last remnants of the light with shooing gestures. Unconsciously basking in the rare warmth, Genesis' lips twitch as he mumbles and leans his face towards the almost motherly glow.

A tentative knock breaks the silence, but the redhead remains oblivious to the sound, drenched in this simple moment. The door to the room opens slightly, and a small blond slips in through the crack balancing yet another stack of papers. Gently setting down the tower on the floor (the desk has long since ran out of room), he took note of the sleeping redhead. Genesis, he noticed, along with Angeal and Sephiroth, are constantly stressed; they never take more than cat naps, and even when they do, the smallest noise will have them reaching for their respective swords. Now, looking down at Genesis sleeping like a baby, Cloud notices that all his wrinkles disappeared, as did the scowl that has become permanently acquainted with his face. Instead, they are replaced by softly fluttering lashes and the soft puffing rhythm of inhaled and exhaled air.

Eyes softening in a smile, he shyly adjusts the red cloak that is slipping off of his superior's shoulders. He looks around the room, and his eyes falls on the small corner where the calendar is. Of course, today is President's Day, which means a parade and a day off. Nonetheless, paperwork does not acknowledge the existence of holidays, and neither does he; especially not if there is work to be done.

Still smiling, Cloud carefully relieves the sleeping Genesis of his completed paperwork and slips out of the office as quietly as he came in. Closing the door behind him soundlessly, he left the almost holy moment and made his way back downstairs through silent hallways, his footsteps echoing through the noiseless hallways.

* * *

Applause:

**Hero**

Genesis, even as a child, knew in the back of his mind that he was always meant for something more than just a dumbapple farmer in Banora. He just knew; he wanted recognition; he wanted to make a change; he wanted his name to be forever engraved in history; he wanted to be remembered. Above all, he wanted attention. He craved it, but never got enough of it. And deep inside of him, a voice in his head nourished the thought, driving his ambition.

He could remember the first time that he heard applause; He was sparring with one of his father's guards, and in the heat of the battle, he parried an incoming blow and disarmed his opponent, sending the weapon sailing through the air and into the ground. Before the guard could even think to retrieve the sword, he had the silver edge of a rapier pointed at his throat. Panting, Genesis allowed the adrenaline to leave his veins as sweat dripped from his hair and to his face.

Then, he heard it; the beautiful, worshipful sound of hands coming together. It started small, then grew and grew. He turned his head to the side to see a formal-looking man in a navy blue suit. He was the one applauding him; recognizing him for his talents.

Genesis can still remember his words, as clear as if they were being whispered into his ears that very second.

"You have talent, young man. Would you like to become a SOLDIER? A hero?"

A hero. At that moment, young as he was, Genesis stood in awe with his rapier in his hand, as his life's dream came crashing into him. A hero. And a hero, indeed, did he become.

He rose to become third in command, the main strategist in the Wutai War, hot tempered, but all the more dangerous. Alas, the higher one climbs, the harder he or she falls. He became a hero alright, albeit one took thousands of lives, hands stained red. He became the one that indirectly almost caused the apocalypse. He still lives every day with the guilt of the dead weighing down upon his shoulders.

"The world needs a new hero, huh?" Recalling his words to his long dead friend, he smiled sadly. Hefting the body of Weiss across his shoulder, he spread his jet black wing and took to the skies, with a promise to return.

He would be a hero, only this time, he will have no applause following his wake. This time, he will have no recognition, no attention. But that's alright, because this time around, he will protect, not kill. Help, not harm. And that, is what truly makes a hero a hero.

* * *

Law:

**Discipline**

Without a care for the chair's health, a red blur bodily tackled it and proceeded to cross his ankles on top of the General's desk, his boots scattering paperwork everywhere.

A minute crease in the Silver General's eyebrows is the only sign of his annoyance—Genesis knew how much this annoys him, but the insufferable redhead chose to disorganize his desk anyway. With a mental sigh, the esteemed Demon of Wutai wondered for the hundredth time why his third in command was in his office. Right. He managed to set Heidegger's hair and beard on fire yet again, made his twentieth secretary in two months become a permanent resident of the local asylum, and almost maimed one of his fans—who also happened to be a TURK trainee—with Rapier when he caught her stalking—er tailing- him.

This was not the first time Genesis has been brought into his office for disciplinary or temperament problems—it certainly will not be the last. With yet another sigh, he closed his eyes and began the normal protocol speech about behavior and teamwork in SOLDIER. He knew that Genesis wasn't listening; he didn't even bother to try to fool himself otherwise. The only reason why he even bothers was because he needed to be 'fair' to everyone.

He didn't think it applied in this case; it's hardly necessary to remind the commander about the laws when he helped draft them in the first place. He was pretty sure that there wasn't a single rule that Genesis didn't break during his time in Shinra. Laws never stopped Genesis when they were cadets; neither did all the strokes that their instructors got shouting at him. Plus, rules, laws, and restrictions never applied to redheads. Ever.

* * *

Repeating:

**Return**

History, it seems, has a very bad habit of repeating themselves. But then again, so did Angeal. Speaking of Angeal, I wonder where you are… Perched on top the rusting ruins of what used to be Midgar, Genesis Rhapsodos allowed the wind to rustle through his shoulder-length auburn locks as he reminisced about the old times. Ten thousand years. It has been ten thousand years since the Crisis, Meteor, and Deepground. Ten thousand. Immortalized by the mako and Jenova cells within him, Genesis watched the future unfold with ice cold eyes.

Being immortal, he realized after the first hundred years, was not as glamorous as people would like to think. In his boredom, he began to keep track of his fellow immortals and other figures around them.

AVALANCHE has long since dissolved, its member slowly dying one by one. The flame lion too, grew old and grey until it returned to the Lifestream. The pink ribbon flower-girl stopped appearing as fewer and fewer people remembered her existence. Her precious church is now no more than a few scant wooden boards and dried petals. The Empress of Wutai, as she came to be, led her people to a time of prosperity until she passed on her throne to her heirs. The pilot, Highwind, eventually succumbed to lung cancer from all the ash he inhaled. Likewise, the man with the gun arm died from pollutants in the crude oil and coal that he worked constantly with. The other brunet lived a long life before dying naturally of disease.

The TURKs—or what's left of them—all died on the job, with the immortal ex-TURK taking care of burials and traditions that the TURKs have—or had. With the death of Tseng, the immortal sealed himself up back in his coffin deep inside the Wutai Mountains. Eventually, he turned into a Wutaian legend; people call him a guardian spirit for travelers, defending them against monsters and such. Sephiroth's mother, likewise, had not moved at all for the past ten thousand years, sealed in crystal.

Another immortal, Cloud Strife… thinking about the small blond cadet made the ex-third in command see just exactly how much the boy has changed. No longer was he small or clumsy; no longer was he bearing paperwork daily; no longer was he shy and timid. In his place was a husk of a man, mind jumbled and without a purpose. In a similar situation is a Tsviet, Shelke the Transparent. Both immortal and without a purpose, watching time after time as their loved ones passed away as they are unmarked by the passage of time. Eventually, they were offered a chance by the fading existence of the flower girl. A chance to change fate; a chance that Genesis would gladly give an arm and a leg for.

Alas, five thousand years have passed since both Shelke and Cloud have gone back in time. He never saw either one of them again. Deep inside his heart, a small twinge of envy soured his mood. With practiced ease, he crushed it out of existence.

Now, though, he was truly the last living being. Apocalypse has come again—this time, with no Holy to stop it. The future generations after the Meteor repeated the same mistakes that their ancestors did—they saw no point in solar power, wind power, coal, and oil. They saw Mako as the ultimate convenient source of energy. Once again, they began draining Gaia of her life. Once again, she activated her WEAPONs in retaliation. They proceeded to slaughter human kind. He stood back and watched as the civilization crumbled and collapsed. Now, with the Planet weakened and Mako leaking, animal and plant life mutated and oasis turned into deserts. Cities got buried beneath sand. The Northern continent got completely covered in ice as the Great Glacier expanded. The tips of the other continents also fell to the icy reach.

And now, suddenly, all around him, everything  _screamed_. The Lifestream itself has finally died. With a pop, the planet known as Gaia disappeared. All that was left is drifting black feather and wisps of the holy green light.  _Even if the morrow is barren of promises_ _/_ _Nothing shall forestall my return_. Except this time, there will be no return; or at least, not a place to return to.

* * *

Mandy: So how was it? Good? Bad? 3,316 words. I'd love to hear feedback, constructive criticism is welcomed, and flames will be used to set Heidegger's beard on fire. I'll probably do more one-shot collections like these, except they might not be concentrated solely on one character next time.


End file.
